Don’t Mind Me

A pair of western bluebirds has a nest
In a dead arm of living cottonwood,
And they seem anxious when I notice them,
In and out of a perfectly drilled hole
Some engineering woodpecker left them
On the underside of the hanging branch
That looks as if it wants to leave the tree
And fall and get on with decomposing
Among the leaves cluttering Handspan Creek.
Is there a bluebird of anxiety?

Allow me, please, to walk a little ways
Away, so as to watch you less rudely
Or disruptively while you continue
With your busy day. You, too. Ignore me.
I wish you could, I really do. I wish
It were possible for you to go on
About your business, dear reader, singing
And working and feeding your young, right while
You were also, actually reading me,
This poem you could take in unknowingly.